


Mistakes

by TheVineSpeaketh



Category: The Avengers (2012), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, Drunk!Tony, Foreplay, Gay Male Character, M/M, Male Slash, Original Character - Male, Post-Iron Man 3, Rescue, tender!Loki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2017-12-12 22:52:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/816991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVineSpeaketh/pseuds/TheVineSpeaketh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Tony is drunk and Loki is suddenly very, very sweet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistakes

Tony was having the time of his life, especially since he wasn't thinking about Pepper.

It had been a long time since he'd actually let himself stop thinking about her, or just stop thinking altogether. Ever since he'd crawled out of the bottle and put his suits away for good he'd been left with nothing to focus on but the dark, bitter refuge of his thoughts, which, nowadays, looked more like a concentration camp than anything. Nothing but torture no matter which way he sliced it, with even the busy management of his own empire and occasional visits from Bruce 'My Motherfucking Man' Banner not being enough to distract from the glaring wrongdoings he'd committed throughout his (pathetically short, all things considered) life. With no way to forget and no way to shut his brain up, he had instead decided to isolate himself, and work on improving everything  ** _but_** the world immediately around him.

Occasionally, he'd tinker with a body he was going to put Jarvis into, programming it as to avoid any repeats of the whole 'unexpected naptime' debacle. He decided he was going to further refine the arc reactor, to better help that self-sustaining energy source kick the whole city into high gear. He kept in touch with Harley in the only way he really knew how; a quick little email sent his way (because he got the kid a laptop and wi-fi; it is a crime when an inventor goes without a wide research database and maybe a few funny cat videos every now and then) asking if he needed anything and what project he was working on and  ** _no_** , for the last time, magnets are meant to be used to either repel or attract and could not in any way create a self-sustaining energy source unless there was either a conflicting source of energy that it could re-route or you happened to have a hammer that reacted to such things. Bruce occasionally stopped by to give him word on what was new (usually because Tony had sent a random jet to whatever remote location he decided to expel himself to next; after a while, he got the hint) and how research was going and what disease he was going to try to cure, or at least curltail the advance of, next.

And Pepper was Pepper-y, if there was ever such a verb. There had to be; she herself was a force to be reckoned with, with an enchanting smile and a mind sharp enough to see through the glittery haze that men constantly tried to pull over her. They mistook her constantly for a woman that could be swayed by good looks, charm, and wonder alone, and every time she made it clear that she was in no way that kind of woman. And yet Tony couldn't help but feel that he was in no way the kind of man she deserved, because all of those potential investments dazzled her with shiny new technologies and vast ideas, and Tony couldn't even do that. His magnum opus was once nestled in his chest, but now it sat at the bottom of the ocean near the wreckage of his previous life. He had destroyed everything he had worked for. He'd even destroyed himself, succumbing to nightmares and panic attacks and now idle chit-chat with a man that he knew thought he could do better, and yet she still stuck by him. Something in that statement struck him as wrong, no matter which way he sliced it.

So, in the end, he had asked her if he could just disappear into the city for one night and forget himself, and forget the world. And something in his eyes must have broken her, for she had held him close and carded her hands through his hair and told him that no matter what, she would leave the light on for him. And that was enough.

He'd taken his most inconspicuous car and had put on a nice shirt and some jeans and had set out for any club he could find on the fringes of New York, spending a few hours just driving idly around and waiting for the sun to set. Then, he'd stopped outside this nice place called 'Vaudeville' and had simply parked and went inside.

The music was loud but it wasn't anything he hadn't heard before, and the sea of bodies before him was a veritable jungle to be lost in. He took one step and then simply allowed himself to be sucked into the fray, moving with the music the way he hadn't in a few years, eyeing up every body that passed by him. He had allowed himself to be washed away by the music, the lights, and the dancing. 

Then, he was pulled ashore once again, but it felt like he was on an entirely different planet. From across the room, a pair of dark eyes pinned him where he stood, appraising him quite thoroughly, and he was suddenly overwhelmed with an ' _ohholymotherfuckingshit_ ' feeling that coursed through him like the finest of alcoholic spirits, which he decided he needed right then, the consequences be damned.

As he approached the bar, the figure winded with an ethereal ease through the crowds of people, and ended up leaning on the bar next to him. Tony looked up at him, admiring the way his blonde hair was plastered to his forehead, the way his smile was quick to his lips, the way his dark eyes still held a glimpse of whatever he saw in Tony. "What's your poison?" the man asked, his voice deep and unwavering, and Tony decided that, since the night was his, he didn't have a sexual preference.

He looked at the bartender, who was waiting for them, smiling at this stranger as if he was a regular. Which, judging by his complete ease, might not have been far from the truth. "Whiskey," Tony replied, taking refuge in brevity. Without steady lighting or his arc reactor, people couldn't notice him, but his voice was still pretty recognizable in long stretches.

The perfect stranger didn't seem to notice anything amiss, his smile growing to show perfect teeth, and he turned to the bartender. "Whiskey for him, and the usual for me, Lyle," he said, and the bartender nodded, moving to produce their drinks. So he **_was_  **a regular, then. Good to know. He looked back at Tony, his body language suggesting complete and total relaxation. "What's your name, beautiful?"

"I'm Tanner," he replied with ease, and the dark eyes sparkled at this information, though Tony couldn't fathom why. A long stretch of silence ensued, and when his drink was settled in front of him, he was slightly relieved. He drank, his eyes never leaving this benevolent stranger, and the stranger's eyes never met his. He drained his whiskey in one go, setting his shot down firmly. "I need another," he mumbled.

Apparently the stranger heard him, for he quirked an eyebrow, but placed the order, waving off Tony's insistence with a half-assed wave of his hand, and the drinks kept coming. Tony was rather indignant at first, being paid for, but then he thought, well, if the man wanted him to burn a hole in his wallet, by all means, he'd burn a hole straight through it.

Throughout the course of several drinks, the dancefloor completely forgotten, Tony learned more about this mysterious stranger. His name was Isaac, he was a museum curator, he lived not far from the club, and he enjoyed rock climbing, surfing, and was rather adept at poetry reading, which he had admitted rather sheepishly. He was charming, Tony thought, but he was truthfully more focused on the muscles rippling under his shirt, the pull of the denim over his strong thighs, and the whisper of blonde hair that curled over his sharp eyebrow. He watched his lips dance as he spoke, his words thickened like honey, and Tony got the sudden urge to lick his way into that mouth, to press himself to that body, to straddle his lap right in front of that bar.

And Isaac seemed to notice it, for he stood up and tugged lightly at Tony's hand. "Come on," he said, his smile quick, and he pulled Tony through the crowd, his hand tight on Tony's wrist. Tony let himself be dragged across the club, let the bodies fade away as he was pulled past an out-of-place man dressed in all black who simply nodded them into a hallway with nothing but doors. 

Tony knew what was going to happen before it even happened. The door at the end of the way opened, and Isaac tugged him inside, closing the door behind him. Then, without much preamble, he pushed Tony to the door and kissed him, pushing his body tightly to Tony's. He could feel every muscle move against, his mind still hyperaware from so much dormancy, and he moaned, his hand catching in the man's hair, his body quivering under his touch. He didn't care how desperate he seemed, and the man didn't seem to mind either. He pulled at Tony's hair, pressing his body to the door, his hands sliding all over him, setting fire in their wake.

He pulled away from the kiss, a loud smack permeating the otherwise silent space, and Tony couldn't even meet his eyes before he'd sunken to Tony's throat, biting, nipping and suckling on every patch of skin he could find. Tony's head fell backward and hit the door with a thud, his hands bunching in the blonde hair tickling his collarbone. His eyes closed, his senses rising, his body jerking as if he'd struck a live wire, and he moaned again, whispering Isaac's name repeatedly. In response, Isaac lifted his head from the hickeyed neck to look into Tony's eyes, his gaze feral and wanting. Tony groaned and smashed their lips together, pushing back against Isaac's body, pushing him across the room until he fell to the bed, Tony toppling over him, his hands bracing on either side of his head. As he moved to straddle him, Isaac's hands brushed up against his sides, grasping lightly at the hem of his shirt and pulling up. Tony lifted his arms with a grunt, his weight resting on Isaac's thighs, and he was divested of his shirt, the chill of the room hitting his skin. Isaac leaned up, biting on his collarbone, dragging his teeth to Tony's shoulder. Tony jolted into him, an automatic response, and his body was pulled tightly to Isaac's, their shared arousals moving against each other. Tony groaned, panting into a searing kiss that melded them together. Isaac's hands were on his hips, on his ass, pulling him tightly to him, and somehow simultaneously tracing the length of his spine, sending shivers all through him. 

"God, Tanner," Isaac breathed, gripping Tony's ass with both hands and pressing them close. "God, you're so hot."

Tony could only manage a broken moan before he sat up, staring down at Isaac, at his kiss-swollen lips, at his hazy eyes, his slight aroused grin, and the body that waited beneath one measly shirt. He slid his fingers underneath the hem of his shirt, his fingers racing up his chest and over his muscles. Isaac raised his arms, allowing Tony to slip off the garment, and he leaned in low, kissing up the side of his neck, biting at the shell of his ear, listening to the puff of a slight laugh coming from his bedmate. 

Isaac's fingers were tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the corded muscle in his neck, his collarbone, finally curling around and tapping the center of his chest. "How did you get this scar, I wonder?" Isaac asked, and Tony froze, sitting back a bit to look at Isaac's face, but his eyes were focused on where his curious fingers lay. "Is it sensitive?" He leaned up, his body moving beneath Tony's, but before he could do anything of it, Tony climbed off him, moving to the side of the bed and settling himself down. He fought off what he was certain was an oncoming panic attack, the last slivers of his arousal fading into the darkness overwhelming him. Ice clouded his veins, his heart stuttering as it tripped over itself to beat. He carded his hands through his hair and worked to steady his breathing.  _Just think about the blueprints for that drone you were making for Jarvis. Think about how the AI can be split or centered._

"Tanner? Are you okay?" Isaac's voice was right behind him, but it could've been ten thousand miles away for all Tony knew. He barely heard him through the heartbeat straining in his ears, the cacophany of his thoughts swirling like a maddening typhoon inside his head.  _I need Pepper. I need Bruce. I need familiarity, I need Jarvis, I need something -- I need to go home._

"This was a mistake," Tony ground out, his body feeling frigid. He searched around for his shirt, making sure not to look at Isaac, and, seeing it lying limp like a fallen bird of the bed, grabbed it, sliding it over his shoulders, not caring if it was inside out.

"A mistake?" Isaac asked, his voice sounding slightly disappointed. "Why is this a mistake?" Tony started heading for the door, and Isaac sat up further, his eyes wide and worried. "Wait, Tanner - "

Tony's hand was on the doorknob when he was grabbed from behind and turned, rather gently, in Isaac's arms. "Can we just talk about it? Why is this a mistake?"

Tony's body was stiff, his muscles tense, ready to strike at any moment. "I can't talk about it," he said. "Just trust me. A night with me is a mistake, no matter which way you look at it." He tried to turn again, but Isaac held him in place, his eyes intensely focused on him.

"Tanner, wait - " he started, but the door suddenly lurched behind them, and Tony moved out of the way, opening the door all the way. He was going to tell whoever was interrupting that it was fine, he was just about to leave anyway, when he saw who was at the door.

The long black hair, though tied back, was unmistakable, and even in the dim light, his skin was an ethereal white. His expression seemed annoyed, and he seemed overdressed for a summer in New York. Nevertheless, he looked casual, and when his green eyes fell on Tony, he smiled. 

"Ah, Tanner," he said, the model American if his accent was anything to say about it, "I was wondering where you'd run off to, love. Come on, I called a taxi when I thought you went missing. It's here now." He looked over at Isaac, his gaze still friendly, but something was off about it. "Who is your friend?"

The shirtless blonde shifted his weight nervously from foot to foot, but he replied. "I'm Isaac," he said, his voice rather timid. "Tanner and I were just - "

Isaac was silenced by a hand as elegant as he'd ever seen. "No need to explain to me; I don't need to know," he said, and he held out his hand to Tony, his eyes flashing with the usual mischief. "Might we go now, love? You have to work tomorrow, remember?"

Caught off guard and still slightly staring, Tony nodded, taking his hand. He turned to Isaac, his mind suddenly empty of anything to say. He felt kind of bad leaving him there, but he squashed it when the voice behind him said, "May I call you a taxi, Isaac, or are you close to home?"

"I can manage," the blonde replied, waving him off, and his eyes looked to Tony once more. "Get him to bed. He's a little drunk."

The laugh that ensued was both wonderful and unexpected. "I can see that," he replied, giving the man a smile. "Good night then, Isaac." And, with that, he pulled Tony out of the back hallway, moving to the front doors, never once looking back.

When they arrived outside into the fresh air, Tony thought the charade would fade, and the walls would fall down. To his surprise, though, he was merely dragged to his car, settled rather gently into the passenger side, and buckled in securely. Then, he settled into the driver's seat, put the key in the ignition - which Tony had no idea how he got - and put the car in reverse, backing out of their parking spot before heading down the road.

Tony looked at him, feeling the weight of a night settling on his shoulders now that he had finally stopped moving. While he couldn't deny that this wasn't necessarily a pleasure, it was still an unexpected surprise. The dark haired man sitting next to him in the car was illuminated by every passing streetlamp and every sliver of moonlight that fell onto him, lighting up his pale skin even in shadow. In his drunken haze, he admired Loki's cheekbones, the delicate curve of his neck, the elegant grip of his fingers on the steering wheel, and the keen look in his green eyes. He told himself he was drunk.

"Loki. Why are you here?" he finally asked, and Loki didn't look at him, but a smile broke his thin lips, and it wasn't full of malice, like he'd last seen it. It was a genuine smile. He was still wary in case Loki had any tricks to pull, but he could only be **_so_** wary when he was watered down by alcohol. As it stood, the familiarity of having someone he knew - even if it **_was_** someone who had previously thrown him from a window - near him was exhaustingly relaxing, and he felt his eyes drooping, but he fought to stay awake. Besides, Loki was replying.

"I happened to drop by the neighborhood and thought I could help an acquaintance in trouble," he said, his true voice shining through. He turned to Tony and gave him another smile, and Tony couldn't help but notice the vitality about him. He'd seemed exhausted all the time before, constantly carrying the weight of something on his shoulders, but now he looked as if he'd slept so well he woke up in a Disney movie. 

"Lucky fucking me," Tony replied, slumping in his chair. He knew this wasn't just altruism on Loki's part. How could it be? For gods, humans were just a means to an end; a stupid race they had to protect. "So what do you want in return?" he asked, expecting a request for some kind of technology that would make his voodoo magic all the more potent. If that was the case, perhaps he could give him a few hundred and tell him where to get steriods. Bruce might leap at the idea of that kind of experiment.

"I ask nothing of you," he replied, turning at the next light, and Tony realized that they were heading back to the tower. 

"But you..." Tony started, his eyes drooping even lower. He shuffled in his seat, trying to start again. Loki's smile just grew, but he didn't say anything more, his silence allowing Tony to phase in and out of consciousness. He barely registered the car pulling into the garage. He barely registered Jarvis and Loki conversing, with Tony snuggled securely in his arms. 

He came to more clarity as Loki was settling him into bed, pulling the covers over his shoulders, which were now clad in nothing but a tank top. When did he change into something resembling pajamas? He could hardly remember. He tried to sit up, but Loki gently pushed him back down. He looked up, seeing through the layers of fog induced by sleepiness and drunkenness a smile donning Loki's face, his eyes fond and caring, and Tony refused to believe any of this was real. It couldn't be. He would wake up tomorrow with Pepper, who was strangely absent from this bed, and when she asked, he would say that his night went well, though he thought someone had slipped him drugs, because not only had he seen the God of Mischief, but said God of Mischief had also tucked him in and set what looked like aspirin and water on the nightstand next to him.

He turned to Tony, straightening himself subtly. "Sleep well, Stark," he said, his eyes bright, "and dream not of all that ails you." After gently brushing a hair from his forehead, he turned to move away.

Before he could stop himself, Tony reached out and grasped Loki's hand, tugging gently at him. Loki turned to him again, looking down at him, his eyes strangely light. Still watching Loki's eyes, as if they mesmerized him, Tony decided to be bold; he leaned up to meet Loki's wrist, kissing it gently and giving it a small, yet noticeable bite. Loki's eyes suddenly grew impossibly dark, his face suddenly expressionless, and Tony froze, watching Loki's free hand suddenly move. He didn't flinch, nor was he afraid; something about Loki made him feel safe, which was ridiculous, to be sure. Loki pried Tony's grip from his wrist softly, lowering his hand back to the bed. Then, Loki stepped back, and, examining him, headed for the door.

"Wait," Tony said, sitting up, and Loki turned to him, laughter in his eyes and a demure smile on his lips. Why was he like this? Why was he so mesmerizing in his lightheartedness? What had changed in the interim, in the time between now and then, that made him this way? Instead of asking any of these questions, his voice simply asked, "why won't you stay?"

Loki laughed, then, but it was kind. "Because it would be a mistake, Stark. And in avoiding mistakes, you are in dire need of all the aid I can provide."

Then, without any preamble, he disappeared in a sudden shock of blue. After it faded, Tony was left alone in darkness, with only Loki's final words and his faint smile, the laughter in his eyes ever-present as he closed his own. So, he fell asleep, tucked into his own bed, none the worse for the night he had given himself.

And if the fact that his last thought, being of Loki, may have quelled the bad dreams he usually had, well, who would ever know?

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on [tumblr!](http://exacteyewriting.tumblr.com)


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